Chickenheart
by WildArm
Summary: Brad Vickers, Alpha Team Pilot, has a story just like the others. Follow Brad through the zombie-infested streets of Raccoon City and his attempts to survive the city's-as well as his own-demons, while attempting to dodge a stalking Nemesis... COMPLETE!
1. Recollection

- DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to Resident Evil, its characters, and all things related to them.

- - -

Chickenheart

Written by: WildArm

I

Recollection

Brad heard a sound outside that caused his eyes to dart open. Without even realizing it himself, Brad noticed that the first thing he reached for was the Beretta by the nightstand of his apartment bedroom.

_Car explosion_, he thought, sounding almost too calm, startling himself. He'd gotten used to the explosions and noises within the first few hours of being in the city.

Two months ago, the events that had transpired at the Spencer Estate caused Brad to become a whole other person, a cold, stoic man, and a man who is no longer afraid of death, what it brings, or who--or what—may bring his demise. He had an idea of who would take him down, but he hoped and prayed to God that the luck he had against that stalking nemesis would continue to linger.

_Nemesis…good name for 'em_, Brad thought, rubbing his eyes and sitting up, thinking of the hulking giant. He's been in Raccoon for a few days now, was there when the city fell and all things went to shit, and was there when a large monster arose from the shadows of the alleyways and chased him wherever he went.

Nemesis was as much of an intimidator as he was deadly. Just thinking of him and what he could potentially do sends shivers down Brad's spine.

He pushes the thought away, knowing that thinking "what ifs" can really put a damper on his plans to escape the city alive. He was always seen as a coward, as a man who runs at the first sight of danger, bringing to life his nickname, Chickenheart Vickers. But that was all in the past, when he had the ability to hide behind the guns and skills of the R.P.D. and the S.T.A.R.S., but now…

Now he was on his own.

"What a day," Brad said out loud to himself, grabbing his fitted, white R.P.D. shirt and putting it on. Regardless of what the others said about him, Brad maintained his physical shape, and was actually quite muscular, though he hid said shape behind the puffy yellow vest he donned.

He bent over and put on his army camo pants and reached the nightstand for his Beretta. He ejected the clip to see if it was loaded, and, seeing that it was, loaded the Beretta once again. Brad sighed heavily; he didn't want to go out into the city streets again to see those monstrosities. In just a day's time, Brad killed many of them, the men and women—the children—the people he swore to protect. He even killed his cousin Jeremy just two days prior, not knowing it was him until after he pulled the trigger.

_But it wasn't Jeremy…it wasn't him at all_, Brad thought bleakly.

Brad stocked up on whatever provisions he had left; a few bottles of water, two sandwiches and a few sticks of beef jerky for energy. He knew that bringing these provisions would make him more bulky when moving about, but Brad made a promise to himself that this would be the last time he went back to his apartment. Once he stepped out of that front door, he would never look back. Come hell or high water, he would escape Raccoon City.

Brad lost himself in thought, thinking of Nemesis once again... _Escape Raccoon City…or die trying._

Before he left his apartment, Brad walked into his bathroom and pulled something out of the bottom of the sink: a few M67 grenades, as well as a few handgun clips. The reason he kept those items in the bathroom was in case his apartment became compromised and he needed to take quick and immediate shelter and action.

But lastly, Brad grabbed an MP5 Submachine gun from the coat rack by his front door; he procured the MP5 from a dead R.P.D. S.W.A.T. team member when they were making their last stand. Brad, along with the other members of the R.P.D., tried all they could to keep the monstrosities at bay. But it wasn't long until their ranks flooded the police, forcing them to retreat. And although most were slaughtered in the initial attack, Brad and a few other officers fell back and made their last just a day prior.

When Brad began to recall the events from yesterday, a sharp pain was sent through his heart. He knew, for the most part, that most of the men who he fell back with died because of him. As a matter of fact, all of them died because of him. That was the first time the Nemesis made his appearance.

Brad and five other R.P.D. officers fell back into a dark alleyway, taking out as many undead carriers as they could along the way. After a few minutes and the sounds of the other officers' gunfire waning, the six were deciding on what course of action to take up.

"We need to head to the police station!" one of the officers yelled. "We need to head to the sewer plant and make our way into the sewers!" There were many things yelled about what to do, but they all agreed on one thing: they needed to get out of the city before they ended up someone else's dinner.

"We need to just get the hell out of here right now!" Brad called out, pointing to the way they had come, showing many carriers slowly making their way to them. In mere seconds the small troop was off, darting and dashing in the long, but quiet alleyway. It wasn't long until the carriers lost chase, and mysteriously walked back in the directions from which they'd come.

"Why are they stopping?" one of the officers asked, followed by a, "Who gives a shit? They're off our asses!"

Loud, thunderous footsteps echoed in the alleyway, diverting the attention of the officers in the direction of the alleyway they were heading. "What the hell?" one of the officers called out, followed by a loud snarling scream, and then dead silence.

Six machineguns were pointing in the direction of the silence, all men hiding the fear they held within themselves while all of them nervously keeping their fingers on the trigger.

"STARSSS…" a voice came from the blackness.

"What?" Brad asked, his voice being carried off into the night air. "What did that voice just say?"

"STARSSS! RUAR!!" And out of the silence came an eight-foot hulking giant, wearing a long, black trench coat that draped just above his combat boots. The grotesque monster looked very much human aside from its height and his genetically altered face: lips laid bare with giant teeth, a pupil-less eye filmed white with dread, and a long, hideous scar that ranged from the top of its skull to the middle of his face, sewn over the other eye.

The officers were unable to move, all six of them stricken with fear and confusion at this hulking giant before them. Was it possible that Umbrella's experimentations reached as far and wide as to make a monster that looked very much like a man, but was very much like a savage as the rest of carriers? The hairs on the back of Brad's neck stood still; he remembered Chris mumbling to himself in the back of the helicopter on the way back to the precinct after the mansion incident.

"It just…just wasn't possible." Brad remembered Chris' words, remembered shooting a glimpse back to see Chris staring at his bloodstained and dirty hand that still held his Beretta, remembered how much it was shaking and how much Chris lost himself in his words. Brad knew from that point, that whatever hell the S.T.A.R.S. went through in that mansion however many hours they were in there was very real and very deadly, and he damned himself for having abandoned them.

"I just couldn't…I couldn't help anybody, Brad," Chris said, now looking directly at Brad, who frowned with his eyes. "Joseph, Richard, Enrico…all of them…I couldn't--didn't--do anything. They died. They all died. I let them all down…I failed them."

"Chris…" Brad's voice sank as he redirected his attention on getting them back safely. He could still feel Chris' eyes burning through his back, could still feel those pain-stricken words haunting him day in and day out since that day. Brad was ashamed of himself; he had left his friends to die, and most of them did because of his abandonment, and not once did Chris ever blame him for what he'd done; there was definitely a time where he may have thought those bitter feelings, but Chris Redfield wasn't one to dwell on matters of the past.

"I'm sorry, Chris," Brad said softly, lowering his head. His voice was very low when he said it, but he knew Chris heard him. Brad heard footsteps hitting the steel floor of his helicopter heading toward his direction, and then felt a heavy hand upon his shoulder, followed by a great sigh.

"No," was all Chris said about the matter, discarding it as quickly as he had set foot inside the helicopter. That was the day that Brad swore to himself that he'd do whatever it took to redeem himself for his cowardice. And although he had indeed skipped town when the publicity of the Spencer Estate incident caused him to get suspended, he returned when he heard there was more commotion about an "unidentifiable skin disease" gripping the residents of Raccoon City. He returned to help those who weren't infected escape the city, and he even did help some evacuate. And when he had his chance to escape, Brad turned his head, assuring himself that his work was not quite done, that there were more people to save.

And there were, but some things were way beyond Brad's control. He tried all he could to save whoever he came across, or at least lend a helping hand, but some were further down the road than others, and for most, it was too late to even lend a hand; he usually had to lend a bullet instead.

His mind forwarded to when the six officers stood in awe of the giant before them. It was an apparent threat, there was no question, but there was something about its size and its appearance that really struck fear into the men's hearts.

"Fire! Fire!" one of the officers called out, followed by a deadly array of bullets penetrating the slowly approaching tyrant.

"STARSSS…" the tyrant called out once again, sprinting forward and grabbing the first officer, and in a split motion, picking him up and tearing him in half.

"Jesus Christ!" another officer screamed, getting the massive thing's fist to the face. Brad saw the officer's face cave in as the hulking giant withdrew its fist.

He knew this was a losing battle, so taking the helm, Brad began to retreat, running past the tyrant and to an unknown destination, the other three officers close behind. But not for long, the tyrant had caught up, and, one by one, the three officers were slaughtered. Brad did what he did best.

He ran.

He ran because there was nothing to do and no way to win that fight. He silently cursed himself, the tyrant, and Umbrella, before the sounds of his boots against the wet asphalt were the only sounds present.

Brad still doesn't know why the monster allowed him to live. If it wanted, it could have had Brad right then and there and this long chase would be over with. But is that the reason why Nemesis kept him alive, to keep chase? He wasn't sure if the monster had any reason, but what he remembered from the first encounter with him, the being seemed logical enough to know who its target was and left him alone when all other threats, minimal though they were, were dealt with. Perhaps killing Brad meant the end of its mission, and therefore, taking away the only use the monster had, rendering it useless.

Brad got himself situated and checked his equipment another time before grabbing the front door handle.

"_Brad, come in, over."_

Brad's walkie talkie came to life, and the sound of R.P.D. Sniper team member Rick Gonzales' voice filled the room. Brad had run into Rick and a handful of survivors after his run-in with Nemesis. With the survivors was another officer who seemed well equipped on his own, the officer volunteering to stay behind while Brad and Rick, giving the other ten hours time to get rest and secure provisions, would return for them and hopefully have a strategy by then. The remaining officer and the other survivors were safely secured in a cellar of a building by the police station.

"Brad here, go ahead, Rick."

"_Heading out into the streets now, meet you at the extraction point in a half hour."_

"Roger. Over and out."

Brad hesitated and thought of the Nemesis; it was waiting out there for him and was willing to play a game of cat and mouse with him until the monster thought the game was no longer fun to play. But Brad worried more about Rick and the survivors than of himself. If they were around when the Nemesis showed up again, who's to say he won't kill the whole lot of them and leave him alive?

There were many possibilities, and they were neither true nor false. Brad knew there was no use in trying to rationalize something that didn't know the meaning of the word itself. But the things that kept Brad going and sane, for the time being at least, was that he was not infected, and was the only S.T.A.R.S. member in the city. So long as he was the only one, it seems the monster would only give chase, challenging Brad, but not kill him. Brad figured the only time he'd have to contend with the tyrant would be when he was close to escaping the city, and by then, he'd have a decent plan to be rid of it.

The presence of Jill Valentine changed all that.

- - -

A/N: I always thought the character of Brad was very interesting and I always wanted to pursue a story chronicling his story up until he meets his end with Nemesis. I hope you all enjoyed reading this; look for more to come. And please read and review; it'll make me write the story that much quicker knowing people want to read it.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Run

II

Run

Brad left his apartment and immediately aimed his MP5 down the dark-stricken hallway. He looked to the floor and saw the still body of a carrier slumped against the wall. Aside from that lone carrier, there was nothing in the hallway but him. He thanked God for that, and, walking slowly and turning the flashlight on the MP5, paced down the hallway and watched his step. He had seen some of the carriers play possum and infect others by biting them on the leg when they got too close for comfort, prompting those who were not infected to kill them both.

And then Brad thought of the Nemesis, and thought how much bad luck it would be to run into him here of all places. To put it simply, should the Nemesis decide to take deadly action against Brad in this apartment complex, he'd be screwed. Not only did he not have enough fire power to do any damage to the monster, but the narrow hallways of the apartment building would make it impossible for him to do any juking or jiving.

A small noise caused Brad's ears and eyes to sharpen, his aim slowly going into the direction of the sound, and from there he saw them, three carriers, all of them ripped to shreds and two of them crawling toward him. They all seemed like they were far down the road: the one who was walking toward him was missing both his arms and his nose, and the two women on the ground were missing both their legs, and most of their scalps.

Brad tensed; even though these carriers seemed like they were easy targets, they were still very much a threat in their own way; just one bite, one scratch, and it was game over. The obvious route for Brad to go would be to kill all three of these carriers and be rid of them once and for all, but the noise his MP5 or his 9mm would make would echo in the hallway and might prompt other carriers who were in the area to flock to his location.

_Ok_, Brad thought, stepping closer to the three carriers and taking out his bowie knife. He cautiously walked over to the first carrier, the standing one, and made sure he was a good arm's length from him before striking. He struck swiftly, slashing at the carriers throat, and quickly stepped away, as he saw the blood pouring from its wound and was afraid of being infected by the blood.

While stepping backwards biding his time, Brad felt a sharp grip on his shoulder behind him. Turning his head, he could see the saliva of one of the carriers dripping on his shoulder, causing his heart to shake with fear. _Shit! _he exclaimed in thought, watching the carrier's head wind back as to bite him on the shoulder.

Call it skill, or the devil's luck, but Brad grabbed the carrier by the arm and threw him over his shoulder into the other two crawling carriers, who by now were almost upon him as well. He shone his flashlight in the direction of the three carriers…and suddenly there were no longer three, but a dozen of them, all of them crowding together in the small hallway hoping to get a bite out of him.

Brad hesitated and ran the way he'd come, half remembering that the carrier that grabbed him came from behind. He wondered, how exactly did it come upon him without his realizing it? Were the things starting to get smarter, starting to assimilate in their role as hunters? Brad wouldn't have that; the thought was just plain folly. Collecting his thoughts, he shone the light in the opposite direction, finding himself face to face with two more carriers who managed to hide themselves in the darkness of the apartment hallways.

This time Brad had no choice, and, in quick motion, slung his MP5 to the side and pulled out his Beretta and fired two shots, and then saw two bodies fall to the floor. The carriers behind him were almost upon him now. He knew that there was a chance that his haven might become compromised, and he did have enough firepower to go through them all, but who knew what awaited him on the staircase, or the entrance of the apartment building. He was _hoping_ to save the bullets for Nemesis, and he was also _hoping_ to stick to that plan.

Then he remembered. _The fire escape! _When he first arrived and made his rounds to his apartment to rest and restock, he made it a must to have the fire escape clear and working in case he found himself in a situation such as this one. So running toward that idea, Brad nearly tripped over the body of one of the carriers he had just killed and stumbled the last few steps toward the fire escape, which was thankfully free of any carriers who may be near it.

When Brad jumped out of the window and onto the fire escape, he saw that the ladder had somehow fallen off its track and crashed to the ground below. He was trapped now he knew, and he could hear the faint steps of the hungry undead behind him. He wouldn't have enough time to kill them all now that he wasted the thought away on Nemesis, so instead, he discarded his Beretta and stood on the edge of the railing overlooking a fifty foot drop and a building next door.

He was going to jump.

His heart beating sporadically, Brad heard the first of the carriers breach the window, and, mustering all the courage he could muster, pulled himself back to gain momentum, the carrier's hand lightly touching him, and jumped the ten foot distance, his knees giving out on the concrete of the opposing building as soon as he hit the ground, causing him to tumble over.

He shot a glance up at the fire escape and saw what could have been him up there, all the carriers crowding together trying to chase him even though he was well out of their grasp. They littered the fire escape, and some of them even fell over the railing to end up a splatter on the concrete; again what could have been him.

Knowing the feeling of being safe wasn't going to last much longer, Brad spun and ran towards the doorway on the roof and stumbled through the door, half cursing himself that he was forgetting to be careful; he quickly rectified that mistake by drawing his 9mm.

The inside of the building looked damp, but the humidity outside came into the room and made it an oven; Brad was already soaked with sweat and his optimism was starting to wane, which wasn't very much in the first place. As he proceeded down the stairs, making his way to the entrance of the building, Brad noticed that it had been much quieter than he expected it to be. In some cases, although not in most, some of the carriers never left the area they were killed, but Brad got the feeling that the beings he once deemed "dumb," for lack of a better word, were starting to get smarter.

He hit the second floor stairway… _Almost out_. As he glanced down, Brad could see that the entrance of the first floor was littered with some bodies…most of which were twitching slowly. _They must've been killed recently_, he thought, grimacing at the thought of what one went through to actually be "eaten alive"…the teeth sinking into flesh, ripping it apart…the oh, so many teeth.

He wasn't going to take his chances with the fresh bodies seeing as though there was a probability that they themselves would soon rise as well, as well as a probability that the carrier--or monster--that killed them was still lurking somewhere close by.

He slowly walked up the steps and went through the second floor doorway and made his way to the fire escape. He wasn't sure what state this fire escape would be in seeing as though the fire escape in his apartment building gave out, so he wasn't going to get his hopes up. And when he arrived at the fire escape, he could see that it was still intact, but would not budge when he tried to dislodge it.

He was going to have to go through the first floor stairway, much to his dismay. He wouldn't dare take the elevator out of fear of it shutting down, or opening the doors to trapped carriers, or bringing him to a floor with a compromising situation. And should he be in the elevator when that happened, he knew there would not be enough time for the steel door to close without being opened _automatically _if something breaches the inside. Things didn't work like the movies; the door wouldn't conveniently shut just before the threat made it to him…it would get through, and he'd be torn to shreds…or take a bite--or slash--or two before taking down his oppressor…and by then it'd already be too late; he'd be infected. But should he choose to go through the doorway and there was some sort of threat, at least he could fall back the way he came and make a decent stand.

With his mind settled, Brad continued down the stairway and made it to the first floor. He didn't dare take a step over fear of the other bodies, so instead, he pulled out his bowie knife and slashed at the first three bodies he saw, the blood flowing freely from their neck wounds, staining the concrete.

"_Brad, it's Rick. Come in, over."_

_Shit_. Brad looked at his walkie talkie and tried to silence it, but by then, one of the bodies sprung up and grabbed Brad by the boot. He didn't waste any time, however, before he thrust his knife into the carrier's eye and fell backwards, watching the carrier twitch and let out a final gasp before expiring completely.

Brad sighed and grabbed his walkie talkie. _"Yeah, Rick. What's up?" _He sighed again.

"_Where the hell are you, man? I told you to meet up in a half hour…and it's been double that. I don't feel very safe on this rooftop, you know? How much longer are you going to be?"_

Brad stood up and yanked his knife from the carrier's skull, carefully retracting his eyes from the gruesome sight. "I ran into a little snag, all right? You just stay put where you are and wait for me." He discarded his knife and 9mm and whipped out his MP5. He spoke as he continued walking. "I'm not going to be much longer, so I need you to keep a lookout for me and… Oh, shit…"

Brad froze when he opened the door, locking gazes with a monster that took one last bite out of the corpse it was eating and looking up at him with black eyes. It looked to be the size of a man, aside from its slimy green skin and crawling on all fours, among other things that Brad didn't give a shit enough to notice at that given time.

"_What? What's the matter?"_ came Rick's voice, echoing in the foyer of the apartment building, the monster letting out a low snarl, followed by a growl at the sound.

"I'll get back to you," Brad said abruptly, and in the time it took to drop his walkie talkie and snap his MP5 forward, the beast was already in the air, Brad jumping to the side and tumbling on his shoulder, his body snapping straight and aiming at the beast on his knees.

It stood on its hind legs and let out a sharp scream, stinging Brad's ears, and by then he was already screaming himself and letting out a flurry of bullets, the sounds of them penetrating booming in the small foyer. Brad eased his finger off the trigger in a moment, half realizing that he does not have the ammunition to waste on petty emotion or anger. But he could see that the job had been done, and that the beast had slumped to its side, lifeless.

Brad panted, wiped his brow, and casually walked past the beast and picked up his walkie talkie, Rick's voice still present, asking for Brad. "Sorry, had a bug problem I had to take care of," Brad answered.

"_Copy that. Fully. You ok?"_

Brad nodded even though nobody was present. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm heading to you now."

"_Copy that. ETA?"_

Brad was already sprinting; with what had just transpired, his location was now the newest attraction for any carriers to flock to, and he wasn't about to be there when it happened. "I'll be there in ten. On my way to you now," Brad said simply in-between breaths, running down the street and trying to decide on if to go through an alleyway or try his luck on the streets.

The alleyways usually had little to no resistance, and wandering the streets would just make him an easy target in the open. However, should he decide to go in the streets, he could get to his destination much quicker than in the safety of the alleyway.

And Rick wasn't going to wait forever.

He made his choice. Brad ran into the streets and quickly stopped himself, taking out his 9mm and shooting the three carriers that were in his way, _BAM! BAM! BAM!, _all headshots.

On the run, Brad emptied his clip and slammed another home, telling himself not to turn back, not to look, at what he knew was a small army heading toward his direction. From where he was, Rick was only a few minutes' run away, and Brad had to make sure he lost his little entourage before he got there and they were trapped.

On his run down Main Street, Brad quickly veered left and ran into an alleyway, thanking God that it was secure, and ran as fast as he could, shooting a glance back and seeing the carriers falling behind, knowing that their prey was well beyond their reach.

Brad took the second he had to catch his breath. The alleyway was dimly lit, but from afar, Brad could see a large shadow heading his way. When he held his breath and aimed his MP5 forward, he saw that the shadow had stopped dead in its tracks.

"STARSSS…" the voice said.

Brad shit himself.

He wasn't ready to take on the Nemesis now. Brad knew he was a dead man, but stood his ground and was about to make his stand until he saw the shadow slowly start to get smaller and smaller…until nothing was there.

_It let me live again_, Brad thought, exhaling heavily and collecting himself. _It knew I couldn't take it down, and yet it let me walk. Why? Why the hell is it still playing with me?_

He knew that thinking about it wasn't going to bring anything, so instead, he ran back onto the main street and saw the big red letters of RACCOON CITY ELEMENTARY staring him in the face. Rick was somewhere on the roof. As he reached for his walkie talkie, Brad felt something sharp grab his neck, and teeth getting a good bite of his vest, and he let out a yell.

The carrier was an R.P.D. officer, and was the only carrier in sight. It knew after the first few seconds that it was gnawing at Brad's vest and not his flesh, and quickly withdrew its head and went in for another bite.

_This is it_, he thought, _I was so close…so close…_

A loud _BANG! _echoed in the street, and the carrier that was holding onto Brad let its grasp go and fell lifeless to the ground. Brad, feeling the sweat that fear caused running down his cheek, looked up to the roof of the elementary school and saw a lone man raise his gaze from his sniper rifle, tip his hat, and give a hearty salute.

Rick Gonzales was a lifesaver.

- - -

A/N: Here's the second chapter. I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. And thank you to those who reviewed; I hope I can get even more from you guys and from others after reading this chapter. Stay well, guys, I'll try to update soon.


	3. Rick

III

Rick

Brad stood still for a second longer, unable to realize what had happened for some time. Three seconds ago, he had seen the front of the school building. Two seconds ago, a carrier had clung to him and tried to infect him. And a second ago, a lone bullet blew Brad's attacker's face wide open, spilling gore all over the hard asphalt.

"Move! Go! Go! Go!" Rick yelled, throwing his arm to signal Brad to get a move on. Brad didn't hesitate, pulling his 9mm out, taking careful jogging steps toward the school building. He made sure to watch his six every now and then in case one of the more agile creatures decided to sneak up on him. Luckily, he wasn't too far off from the building when he began to run; he made it there in less than a minute.

As Brad approached the double wooden doors of the school building, he quickly spun and pointed his 9mm at the darkness, being careful not to let his guard down at this crucial moment. He stood at that position for a few seconds before he heard some rustling behind the doors.

_Come on, come on_, Brad thought, hearing the beat of his heart grow louder and louder each second. Finally, Rick released the bar that was on the door and allowed Brad to quickly sneak inside, sighing and panting as he did, catching up on the breath he thought he lost in those few seconds that felt like an eternity.

"Thanks, buddy," Brad panted, only to hear the cocking of a shotgun stop his breathing. He looked up to see Rick pointing the weapon at him, sneering at him as if he was on of the carriers Rick was about to kill. Brad had no idea what was going through his friend's mind. Has Rick gone insane to point a shotgun at his own friend?

"Brad, I want you to listen to me very carefully, all right?" Rick's voice sounded very unstable as he spoke, obviously bothered by something.

Brad lifted his hands in the air and nodded at him. He had an idea of what was bothering Rick. He thought Brad was infected, didn't want to take his chances. He couldn't blame him for thinking the way he would've if the roles were reversed.

"Now don't lie to me, Brad," Rick's startled voice said, "I saw the thing take a chomp on your vest, not sure if he got ya or not. Now if he did, I'm gonna let you go, let you run away and I won't hunt ya down. But I swear to God in Heaven, if he did and you lie to me, I won't hesitate to blow you away right here and now. We clear?"

Brad nodded, taking off his vest and shirt as quickly as he could and spun slowly, showing Rick that no visible bite or scratch wounds were on his body.

Rick sighed a sigh of relief. "Sorry I had to probe ya, buddy, but you know how it can be in this place."

"I don't blame ya one bit," Brad answered, quickly putting his clothes back on. "I would've done the same thing to you if I were in your position, so no offense taken."

"Well, lets get a move on to the roof and discuss a strategy," Rick suggested, tossing a bottle of water to Brad, who thoughtfully took and drank it on the spot. He followed Rick to the roof as he lay still and took his sniping position once again.

Brad crouched by him and looked out to the street he was just on. Besides the carrier who had attacked Brad, many others were flocking to its direction, dropping to their knees and ripping it to shreds.

Brad turned, disgusted, as Rick stretched his neck. "When they hear the sounds of bullets, they all form together and make their way towards the sounds. I don't know what it is, Brad, but I feel like these things are getting smarter.

"Smarter?" Brad asked, turning back to see that the carriers had finished dismembering his attacker's body.

"Even in this case," Rick began. "It didn't take long for the carriers to make their way here, and when they did, they all came in different directions."

"So?" Brad replied.

"So what I'm saying is that their performing a pincer technique, attacking their prey from all directions to make sure there was little to no percentage of survival. And I know what you're thinking, the town's full of 'em, right? Well, I saw that they all came from different directions and still performed a pincer attack."

"Man," Brad sighed, watching as the carriers walked away from the massacre and slugged back to the dark alleys they came from. "Why don't you take them all out right here and now, Rick?" Brad asked, looking at Rick, who was still looking through his sniper scope.

"Easy tactics, my friend," Rick answered, "a sniper doesn't stay hidden for long if he keeps firing. Eventually, the carriers will see that the bullets are flying from this building, and then two will become four, four becomes eight, and so on, until they break through the barricade and our little haven becomes compromised."

Brad shook his head, bothered by his stupidity. But then again, what the hell did he know about battle tactics? He was hired to be a helicopter pilot and to provide "rear security", which pretty much meant that all he did was fly a helicopter. The S.T.A.R.S. and S.W.A.T. took care of the tactics. Brad was always safe knowing that there would be little to no possibility of him using a firearm…at least, until this hell came about.

"You got any game plan, Brad?" Rick asked, abandoning his sniping position and giving his attention to Brad. "I don't know about you, but staying in this building doesn't exactly seem like it's the safest place…and I don't think help is coming any time soon."

Brad nodded. "I don't think it is either. But what can we do? We can try to do what Ford and the others did and make our way to the police station and hope that they're still alive and form some sort of perimeter until help arrives. But with those civilians we got holed up by the station, I'd say our chances of survival is either doubled or slighted."

"What are you trying to get at?"

"Forgive me for saying what I'm about to say, but if we take them along, then we're more than likely to be easily spotted. But if we take them along and get compromised, we can always use them as bait for us to make our move."

Brad lowered his head after his statement, but noticed Rick's expression from his peripheral vision. All he saw was anger and disgust, and some possible bitterness. "What the fuck are you getting on?" Rick said angrily, but in a whisper. "We may be stuck to the wall right now, but we're still cops, man. We're still wearing our badges and are going around telling survivors that we're the police and that they'll be safe with us. What makes you think we have the right to sacrifice their lives to save our own?"

"This gives us the right," Brad answered, pulling out his 9mm. "In the land of the dead, the pistol-holding man is king."

"You're sick," Rick answered.

"I may be," Brad replied, "But am I wrong?"

Rick lowered his head. No matter what his job entailed or what he believed in, he knew that Brad was right in every way. Darwin suggested that only the strong survive, and tagging some of these civilians along with them to possibly give up their position or end up getting them killed didn't sound very appealing to him either.

But the badge was still there. His badge said "To Serve and Protect" not "To Kill and Sacrifice". "Brad," Rick began, watching as Brad was shaking his own head, then bringing his hand to his face and wiping the sweat from his forehead.

"I'm sorry, Rick," he said, still shaking his head. "I'm sorry for what I said; I didn't mean it. I don't know what's come over me from being in this place, but I don't like it one bit. I feel like a monster saying the things I've been saying…but I don't mean them at all."

"Hey…it's ok," Rick said, patting Brad on the shoulder. "Everything's going to be all right, man. We're both gonna be just fine."

_I hope so_, Brad thought, sighing deeply, rubbing his 9mm with his thumb and staring at the ground. "Ok," Brad said, standing up and taking a look over the school building. "The street still looks secure. I think we should go back, grab the survivors, and hole up in the station to secure ammo and provisions. Should we become compromised, we can make our last stand there."

"Solid."

"But, and this is a major but, the possibility could very well be that Ford and the others have all been killed and we're walking right into a haven full of those things…" Brad thought of the Nemesis, thought of those big hands grabbing him and lifting him in the air, tearing his limbs apart. He swallowed. "Or worse. Much, much worse."

"Well, standing around here isn't going to help us, is it?" Rick asked, giving Brad a grin and picking up his shotgun. "Like I said, we're cops. We're here to protect the ones who can still be protected and nothing more."

"Got anybody waiting for you on the outside for you, Rick?"

"My daughter…" Rick said grimly, Brad finally seeing the first sign of compassion in his friend since all Hell broke loose. Brad never noticed it before, but aside from being very skilled in firearms, Rick didn't look like much of a threat. He was about 5'8" and had a athletic physique, but had calm brown eyes and a calm composure.

"When I noticed what was happening here after you guys went into the mansion," Rick continued, "I told my mother to take Annie to our house in Florida and wait until I told her it was all right to come back. When we started evacuating everyone, I had a chance to get out. I was right there, Brad, right past the barricade and past all the infected and the monsters…just one step closer to Annie…but something stopped me from going any further…"

"The people," Brad answered, remembering why it was that he went back in the city when he had the chance to escape as well.

Rick nodded. "I saw children screaming for their parents and parents screaming for their children. I saw a thousand broken hearts aching to be fixed…and so I turned my back on my daughter…turned my back on her and the life she'll grow up to have…turned my back on it all. And for helping others, I'm rewarded by dying in this place? No! I won't accept it! My girl is out there waiting for her dad and I'm going to her. Now it's all about survival, and I don't know about you, but I plan on making it out of here in one piece."

"Couldn't have said it any better myself, man," Brad replied, nodding at his friend. Whatever Rick said at that moment really hit Brad home; it was that moment he felt invincible, felt he and Rick could take Nemesis like it was nothing. "So let's get going. Annie's waiting for you."

Brad patted Rick on the shoulder and the two broke off and began collecting munitions. Rick went off into his storage locker within the building and pulled out his M1911 .45, his 9mm Beretta, and his M4 Carbine assault rifle along with his Remington shotgun.

"Jesus. You plan on storming the city of Troy?" Brad asked.

"I plan on taking back my city," Rick answered, securing his M4 with its shoulder harness and clinging to his shotgun. "I know what's out there and know what I'm going to need to get out of here. I don't mind the extra weight so long as it keeps me safe, you know?"

"I hear ya loud and clear, pal," Brad grinned, the two descending the stairs and making their way to the front door. "Once we leave here, we'll probably never be able to come back. You sure you're ok with that?"

Rick nodded. "I've accepted that the probability of me not surviving this thing are high, but it's better taking my chances out there than waiting here to die. I'm tired of running, Brad; I wanna go hunting."

Brad released the bar on the door and the two piled out, Brad raising his 9mm and Rick raising his shotgun, the two running down the street opposite to where Brad was coming from previously. Very little carriers littered the streets and all were too far from Brad and Rick for them to give a damn even though the carriers gave chase until they realized that their prey was far beyond their reach. Rick immediately took point, blasting a carrier who came a little too close for comfort, its face disappearing as the shell came in contact.

"Hey!" Brad shouted. "Hey! You forgot your sniper rifle back at the school building!"

"I'm leaving it behind!" Rick shouted back. "I have too much with me, and I know for a fact that I'll never have enough time to pull a shot off without something creeping up on me!"

Brad thought about telling Rick about Nemesis, but something held him back. He wasn't sure why he didn't; he figured that Rick would try to ditch him when he found out a Tyrant was personally chasing Brad around the city and killing all those with him while leaving him alive.

_Why am I even thinking like that? _He thought to himself, shaking his head. Rick was his friend. No matter what, no matter what circumstance, Rick was always going to be there to lend him a hand, at least, that's how Brad felt about the situation.

Brad fired off two shots from his Beretta, hitting a carrier in the chest and neck, watching her fall to the ground.

"Nice shot!" Rick called back, running and waiting at the end of the street for Brad. In front of them was a small alley which looked clear. But like other things, that wasn't always a guarantee; there could always be something lurking around each building corner, there could always be something scaling the building to suddenly give them the drop.

"Well?" Rick asked, the sweat sliding down his face. With all the weight he was carrying, he was obviously fatigued. Brad couldn't even fathom holding that much weight on him and running the way Rick was; he'd have already thrown himself to the carriers by this point.

"We go in," Brad answered, tapping Rick's shoulder and taking point, pulling out his MP5. The two slowly crept the dimly lit alley using extreme caution.

As they reached the middle of the alley, the two heard thunderous footsteps coming from the direction they have just come from. "STARSSS…" the Nemesis called out, its rough voice echoing in the alley.

"What the hell was that?" Rick asked, pointing his Remington at the direction of the voice.

In the darkness the two could see a shadowy figure standing at the end of the. The figure stood about eight feet tall, and just stood there, watching them, its hulking mass sending chills down the two men's spines.

"Run," Brad whispered to Rick, dropping the magazine from his MP5, checking his ammunition. "Run and don't look back, Rick."

"What the fuck are you talking about, Brad?" Rick asked. "What the hell is that thing and how the fuck can it talk?"

"It's after me!" Brad shouted, immediately pelting the Nemesis with bullets. The Nemesis jerked left and right, blood spewing from the wounds, but it never once faltered; it looked as if it was eating the lead.

When Brad eased his finger off the trigger to change magazines, he looked over and Rick and said, "If you stay here with me you're gonna die, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. I'm going to buy you enough time to get out of here and get to those survivors."

"You're out of your mind, Vickers!" Rick shouted. "I'm not about to leave you here alone to fight that thing!"

The Nemesis quickly regained his equilibrium and began slowly walking down the alley, its thunderous steps pounding in Brad's eardrums, blowing them apart. Brad immediately opened fire on the Nemesis once again, this time being greeted by the sound of Rick's Remington joining the fray.

"You goddamn idiot!" Brad screamed, his voice barely audible over the gunfire.

Nemesis' walk quickly became a sprint down the alley, first targeting Rick. Brad watched as Nemesis reached Rick in no time at all and threw a heavy fist at him. Luckily, Rick dodged the monster in time and rolled to his side, quickly regaining balance and continuing to fire.

With another magazine expended, Brad slammed his last clip home and continued his barrage. The Nemesis took its gaze off Rick when it was apparent that Brad's concentrated firepower was dealing more damage to the monster than Rick's sporadic firing with the shotgun was.

Three monstrous steps and Nemesis was upon Brad, this time taking a swing at him. Brad dodged to his side and missed the blow, but was winded when the monster grabbed him by the throat and lifted him in the air, easily ten feet above the ground.

Brad began to scream in fear, kicking with his legs to try to get away from the monster's grip. Brad saw in its stitched eye and the way it grit its teeth that it was done playing games, that this was the end for Brad and his hopes of surviving Raccoon City.

It wasn't until his guardian angel came and saved him from the death vice. Rick sprinted and stopped below Nemesis, and squeezed two rounds of shotgun blasts off, one hitting its face, and the other hitting its shoulder. Nemesis dropped Brad and grab its shoulder wound, which was spurting purple blood, fell to the ground, letting out one last, "STARSSS…" before laying limp before the two men.

Brad hit the ground and kicked his feet to move as far away from Nemesis as possible. He stared at him for a second before Rick shouted for them to get a move on, Brad not even able to hear his friend's warning out of shock of what had just transpired.

"On your feet!" Rick shouted, bringing Brad to his feet and moving him along from the large heap on the ground.

Was the Nemesis really dead? Brad wondered. How could it be that it stood up to all that firepower from the other officers prior to this firefight, yet succumbed to them now? Could it be possible that the Nemesis was fighting wounded, and that its body simply gave out from too much pain?

"It isn't dead," Brad said to Rick, stopping his sprint and spinning around the other way.

"What?" Rick called out.

"It isn't--!" Brad shouted, only to see Nemesis running toward them, his fists at the ready. He headed towards Rick and threw a punch to his face, which immediately knocked him down to the ground. Brad could see the blood that flew from Rick's mouth as he was struck by Nemesis. It then picked Rick up and lifted him in the air as he did Brad, but this time he showed a slithering tentacle that emerged from its hand.

"No!" Brad shouted, firing his MP5 at the Nemesis' face until his weapon clicked empty. The holey-faced Nemesis withdrew its tentacle and slammed Rick against a building, and then threw him through a second-story window nearby, Rick's body smashing through the glass and disappearing from view.

There was no doubt in Brad's mind that Rick was dead, and he wasn't going to stick around to fight a losing battle to save a friend that was already dead. _I'm sorry, Rick… _Brad grimly thought, thinking of Annie, thinking of how that little girl will grow up without a father and that it was all Brad's fault. _No, it's not your fault, you told him to get away_, Brad said to reassure himself.

The Nemesis glared at Brad, who had already dropped his MP5 and let it fall to the ground before he began to run away. When he glanced back, he noticed that the Nemesis was walking in the other direction, no doubt in an attempt to assess its wounds before attempting to track Brad back down. He knew if the Nemesis went after him now he wouldn't have a chance to kill it, but he assumed that the Nemesis knew that itself, but wanted to get rid of him at some other time.

Nemesis wanted to get rid of Rick, the bigger threat, and he had done just that. Now armed with only a Beretta, Brad's chances of survival were starting to look even more grim than they were. He could always enter the building Nemesis threw Rick's corpse through, but Brad was unsure of the dangers lurking within said building.

Brad thought about what Rick had told him when they were at the school building. "We're here to protect the ones who can still be protected and nothing more." People still needed Brad's help, and he'd be damned if he didn't at least try to help those survivors.

He stood to watch the Nemesis slug its injured body away from sight before he sighed, slid the hammer back on his Beretta, and pressed on, thinking about Annie.


	4. Seeing STARS

IV

Seeing S.T.A.R.S.

Brad ran the events that had just transpired over and over again in his mind, trying to figure out if there was any way it could've gone different. But no matter how many times he ran it through his head, he knew it wouldn't have been any different if they decided to go down different streets and pathways. No matter where they would have gone, the Nemesis would've found them and would've killed Rick and leave Brad defenseless and alone.

_What's it all for? _Brad thought, thinking of Rick. _What was the reason you didn't go when I told you to go? You idiot. You left your daughter an orphan._

Rick Gonzales, good 'ol Ricky, was gone, taken in the darkness and flames of Raccoon City, like all the others. But that didn't matter anymore. Brad was still alive, those survivors were hopefully still alive, and he had to worry about those that were still living, not dwelling on those who were not.

Brad came almost halfway to where the survivors currently were. He was by an apartment building on the far eastern side of the city, about a half hour's trek to the station from where he was, but it would take a little longer now that he had to backtrack and find the survivors.

Brad scoured the street, looking for any fallen officers who still had any weapons or ammunition on them, or carefully scoping out the street to see if there was an officer carrier in the crowd with a handgun still in its holster.

His luck seemed to become a little better when he chanced upon an officer's body slumped over in his squad car. _Poor bastard never even made it out of his seat_, Brad thought, checking the officer's wounds and noticing that his throat had been ripped out, and that there was no chance of his reviving. Still, Brad felt a little cautious and a little depressed as he stared at his fallen brother. "Miller" was the name on his nametag.

Brad ran it through his mind if he knew the man, but didn't. He apologized silently and reached towards the man's side, pulling out a Beretta and two fresh clips; it seemed that Officer Miller didn't even manage to fire a round before he was overtaken by the carriers. He thanked Miller for the clips and proceeded onward, looking on to some carrier activity that was mere feet away from him. He tried to pay it no mind, but there was something in the way they moved and shuffled with one another that got Brad to thinking: was Rick really right when he told him that the carriers were getting smarter? They moved in sync, each carrier shuffling to the side of the carrier next to them, looking like a ten pin stack would look in a bowling alley.

_Shit_, Brad thought to himself in alarm, as one of the carriers sensed his location and alerted the others, all of them now bringing their ten pin strategic movements towards Brad. But one of the advantages that Brad had on them was the further use of his legs, which he used to sprint away from them. In mere seconds they went from standing a few feet away from him to being little spots in the distance. And when Brad glanced back, he had noticed that the carriers made their way to Miller's body to finish the job on him now that Brad was in safe distance between them. He saw them beat on the car, unable to tell if Miller was still alive, until one of the carriers broke through the window on the passenger's side and shuffled into the squad car, greedily ripping chunks of flesh from Miller's body as his brethren watched in hunger.

Brad didn't even stop to think about what they were potentially doing to Miller's body, and he immediately ran past the apartment building complex to his left and into a small storage warehouse to his right. He reached for the doorknob and was grateful to God that it was open, immediately swinging it open and slamming it shut.

The building was pitch black. Brad reached into his hip pack and removed his flashlight, grabbing and pointing it with his left hand and crossing it with the handgun in his right, utilizing both as an effective tool that Chris Redfield taught him long ago.

His hand was shaking quite a bit, the fear starting to take over. He could hear the sound of his own heart beating louder and louder as he slowly took step by step into the seemingly unending darkness. He came upon what looked like an office to his right, and when he shone his light within, he noticed two carriers biting into the body of a man who was still alive, his screams piercing Brad's flesh with each scream.

"Help me…" the man called to Brad, weakly lifting a hand toward his direction, no doubt the last strength in his body, to ask for deliverance.

The carriers looked over in Brad's direction and Brad quickly withdrew. _Shit, shit, shit_, Brad thought, breathing heavily, his hand holding the Beretta close to his chest.

Sure enough, both carriers made their way out of the office and swiped at Brad. He immediately ducked and fired first at the carrier, the bullet lodging within its neck, taking it down. The second carrier was quickly dispatched by a bullet to the forehead.

When all was said and done, Brad quickly scanned his environment to see if any stragglers were making their way to him. When he realized that the threat was over, Brad slowly walked into the office and kneeled beside the wounded man dying in front of him.

"Hey," Brad said, shaking the man. "You still with me?"

The man wheezed slightly, blinking uncontrollably, and looked over at Brad. "You…a cop?" the man breathed, blood flowing from his mouth.

Brad nodded. "Special Tactics and Rescue Squad, at your service, sir," Brad said, smirking a little. He knew the man was not far from the end; he could sense it.

"Heh…special forces," the man smiled, grabbing Brad's hand, Brad feeling how cold it was and squeezing it almost immediately. "Help…really came…" he then said, letting his last breath of air escape his lungs, his gaze still fixed on Brad's grief-stricken face.

There was no justice in it, Brad was thinking. No justice for Rick, this man, and for all those who were killed by this virus. Umbrella was playing games with people's lives, and everyone is still watching from afar while Raccoon destroys itself.

Brad let go of the man's cold hand and raised his Beretta to the man's forehead, firing a round that echoed in the warehouse, echoed in Brad's mind, destroying him from the root.

Knowing what Rick told him about the carriers finding the position of the shots fired made the fire under Brad's ass that much hotter. He was instantly on the move, scanning the warehouse for any other threats but noticing nothing. Brad didn't know why, but in most cases, the carriers didn't occupy the building as much as they occupied the streets; Brad figured that when the humans were turned, instinct told them that food was to be found on the outside, not in their confined area.

That thought relieved him.

When he came to the other side of the warehouse, he turned back and took one final look in the direction he had come to make sure he didn't leave anything alive that would come back to bite him on the ass when he was making his move. He silently apologized to the man he had been forced to kill and immediately grabbed the handle of the exit door and piled outside, sprinting as soon as he exited, not taking a second glance to his left or right because his left and right were irrelevant; all he cared about was moving forward and nothing else.

Brad realized he was close to the police station. He had seen some typical carrier activity going on down the block from where he was. There had to be a few dozen of the things banging on the door of another storage warehouse. Judging by how badly they had wanted to get in, something told Brad that there were potential survivors in there, but with more heads to the carriers than he had ammunition, Brad had to make the sensible decision and worry about himself in this case. He was sorry he had to do so, not sure if those survivors were fighting for their lives at the very moment and are in need of assistance, but there was no use in Brad throwing his life away when he wasn't even sure if those people were alive or not.

_When I get to the station and get some bigger guns and hopefully some more hands, we'll try to backtrack just to make sure_, he assured himself in a way that he wouldn't dwell on it too long. He'd be back to help out if the assistance he needed existed, and that was enough to keep him going.

A few of the carriers caught wind of Brad's scent and turned to face him, but Brad was already too far gone for them to mindlessly give chase, even though they did. That made Brad wonder: how exactly were these things "evolving" as Rick had said? They still seemed like they lacked even the most basic hunting and logic skills needed to get by, so how were they to even understand when it was pointless to give chase?

_If you were starving and a cow happened to be three miles from you, you'd chase it_, he answered himself, giving in to the logic that hunger would make anybody, or thing, do some outrageous things.

He was not far from where the survivors dwelled; he had at least a few minutes of running time to go before he reached the haven and took the small fleet into the station. Brad had remembered that another officer was with them when they were all locked in there, and the officer was well armed; H&K VP70, and a Remington shotgun, so he didn't worry about anything getting into that small enclosure that wouldn't be easily disposed of.

When Brad entered one of the make-shift barriers the police put up in an attempt to keep the virus' victims at bay, he noticed multiple trashed police cars, some having run into buildings, and some with shattered glass and blood on the doors and windows, no doubt belonging to the officer of that vehicle.

Brad shuddered at the thought that his friends, men and women who he had once said good morning to in the station and even shared a cup of coffee with were among the ranks of these undead, attacking him, making his chance of survival that much slimmer.

Justice wasn't justice anymore.

When was it going to be his turn? When was he going to be the one who had the cards in his hand for a change? The possibility was as much as his escaping the city at all.

The saw that all the police cars were stripped of the extra Remington that was in them, probably survivors who saw their chance at possessing a firearm and taking it…

Brad didn't blame them.

The squad car that had busted through the building had its door's jammed, and Brad didn't even bother with opening them. He went to the end of the walkway in front of him and through a steel door. The survivors were here. Brad traversed on the brittle wooden staircase and walkway as he stood in front of the survivors haven.

Brad knocked once, waiting patiently to see if any of the survivors would ask who was out there. When Brad realized that was stupid for him to do, he took out the key for the door and promptly unlocked it, slowly opening it and shutting the door behind him.

What he smelled made him sick.

Brad looked at the bloodstained walls and floor and saw the bodies of the survivors on the bottom platform and one on the stairs. It seemed the one on the stairs was looking to escape but didn't make it in time. Brad slowly descended the steps, Beretta at the ready, and came to the end of the small room, looking over to the corner and noticing the officer lying lifeless with his hands still clutched to his Remington.

"My God…" Brad whispered, looking over to see that the officer had had his throat ripped out as well. When he saw his opportunity to grab the Remington, he heard a shuffle behind him and noticed that all of the survivors had begun to realize that Brad was in the room, and were attempting to get at their new meal.

When Brad tried to make a run for it, one of the carriers grabbed his leg and tripped him, Brad tumbling to the base of the stairs and staring at the carrier on the steps that was a foot away from his face. He immediately fired once at the carrier's face, its blood spewing on Brad's face, staining it. When the other carrier grabbed his leg once again, Brad fired on him as well, and blew his eye away. He took no time to make it to the top of the steps and shouldered the door open, letting out a small scream of terror as he ran down the walkway in front of him.

Brad thought he heard gunshots from the survivor's haven, but his mind and legs were racing too fast to even care about what was happening at that moment. He ran through a door another steel door at the bottom of the stairs and continued onward, wary that there were some carriers in this enclosed area. He knew there was a bar here he had left some Beretta ammunition in just in case he ever needed it, and he knew this was the time to cash in. When he descended the small steps at the corner of the street, Brad was dismayed to see that the door was locked; he'd have to find another way in.

When he turned, he saw that the carriers were starting to make their way to him. He quickly ascended the steps and proceeded onward, dodging the first carrier by shuffling to his left and the other by simply sprinting past him. When he turned the corner, he noticed three carriers biting chasing after a man. When Brad tried to call out for him, one of them, a man in a tattered U.B.C.S. uniform, made his way back. Brad fired upon him twice, once in the chest and once in the cheek, the carrier slumping against the wall by him, a pool of blood forming underneath it.

Noticing that the man was too far gone now, Brad exited through a wooden door to his right and walked onward, keeping his hand on the steel banister to his right. A carrier was present in front of him, but instead of firing upon him, Brad jumped the banister and landed in the dumpster below him, his body sinking in the stinking piling of garbage.

When he looked straight ahead, he noticed that two carriers who pretended to be dead bodies revived themselves, and another blocked his view into the back entrance of the bar. He jumped out of the dumpster and heard the door he had come in previously open, Brad unaware what it was but wanting to get away from it as soon as possible. He bull rushed the carrier, slamming it against the wall and ran ahead. When he noticed that the thing was still giving chase, a frustrated Brad screamed, "Get away from me!" and fired until the carrier was a bloody pile on the ground.

He immediately ran ahead and entered the bar, still unsure if the sounds he heard outside were the sounds of gunshots or if the sounds were just his imagination playing with him.

He shook the thought away and shut the door behind him, now having a chance to catch his breath. Sweat dripping down his forehead, his stomach in knots, Brad walked toward the register and looked underneath, taking out two boxes of handgun ammunition and quickly refilling his magazines.

Now that he was all ready, he decided that it was best for him to still take his chances with the police station to try to secure some weapons. So when he walked around the counter and began to head toward the back entrance that was locked--

--that was where the carrier that was hiding sprung up.

It grabbed Brad and sunk its teeth into his neck, ripping out a chunk of flesh from him. Brad's eyes widened at the sight of the thing, the pain, and what realization came upon him.

It was game over; there was never going to be any escape for him now.

He shook the carrier off and noticed that it was a police officer. Brad raised his Beretta and fired endlessly, his bullets smacking into the torso of the officer, slowing its trek to take another bite from its food. Brad then aimed for the face and continued to fire and screamed at the top of his lungs until his gun went dry, Brad still pulling the trigger and hearing the _click _of the empty chamber.

Exhausted, Brad heard the door open and he fell to the floor, the fatigue and pain finally catching up to him. He was ready to give up and let whatever came through the door have him until he saw the boots of a woman walk to his direction. Brad, with tears streaming down his face, gazed up to see his fellow S.T.A.R.S. member staring right back at him with as much shock as he had.

Jill Valentine was in Raccoon City, too; Brad thought he was the only S.T.A.R.S. member left in the city.

Jill, with a pain-stricken face at the sight of Brad's neck wound, gazed back at him with worrisome eyes, Brad gazing back with empty ones.

He lowered his head, the tears sliding down his cheeks and dripping off his chin. He was a dead man walking; she knew it, he knew it, and there was nothing the two of them could do to stop the process.

"Brad?" she called out, kneeling beside him.

Brad, taking in a deep breath, his chest puffing because he was on the verge of crying out of frustration, exhaled just as deeply. He then looked up and saw her face, still as beautiful as ever, immaculate as a doll. It was the most beautiful thing he'd seen in a long time, since this Hell came to earth, to his city.

He didn't take his eyes off her, and she continued to watch him with worry. She grabbed his cold hand with her warm one and smiled a painful smile at him, as if to say she was thinking the same thing about the infection and she was only sorry she hadn't come sooner, where things could have been different.

She called out to him again, her voice cracking a little.

"I didn't know you were still alive, Jill."


	5. Infection

V

Infection

Brad managed to muster the strength in him and stood on his feet. "No time to talk, Jill. Listen, it's coming for us."

He could see the puzzled look on her face as she gripped her hip and walked toward him; she looked just as fatigued as he was. "What's coming for us?" she asked, not taking her gaze off of Brad's neck wound. He knew he had to tell her about the Nemesis, but did he really want to put such a heavy burden on her?

There was no other alternative.

He proceeded to walk toward the back door that was previously locked, not even daring to look back at her as he spoke. He didn't want her to see the cold, cold fear that was written all over his face when he spoke of his Nemesis…the foe who will very much go after Jill now.

But then again: how would the Nemesis even know Jill was in the city if he never ran into her? Brad wasn't sure if they all had some sort of tracking device on them that the Nemesis could sense and easily track them with, or if it only knows that Brad is in the city.

Brad, now infected, had no hopes to escape the city, but Jill…she still had a chance to escape this horror and spread the word of what happened here, who was responsible, and bring them to justice. He knew Jill wanted to go with him, two heads being better than one and all, but Brad wasn't about to have any of that. He didn't want to risk Jill's well-being, didn't want the Nemesis to know that she was in the city as well.

"You'll see," Brad said weakly, grabbing the door handle and swinging it open. "It's after S.T.A.R.S. members! There's no escape!"

Immediately, without another word, Brad ran back into the streets, ascending the stairs, and ran past the bodies littered in the streets--the bodies he assumed Jill had taken down while following him earlier--and retraced his steps. When he rounded the corner by the dumpster at the end of the street, Brad noticed that the man who he had seen run away was now a bloody pile on the floor, the man obviously succumbing to the virus and attacking Jill before expiring.

Just like he was going to expire. Just like he was going to die. Just like he was going to attack some random innocent looking for the same freedom he aspired to attain.

Brad shook the thought away; he had seen people infected before, and the process of turning them into carriers ranged between them all; some took hours to turn while others took less. Hopefully, Brad had enough time to do what he wanted to do.

He ran away from Jill because now that he had nothing else to live for, he wasn't going to run away anymore; it was pointless. He had run away so many times before, left people to die, had killed and had sinned, and now he was going to make his stand. He fished through his pockets and saw that he had two M67 grenades.

He was going to find the Nemesis and kill it. Or die trying.

He had to protect the last shred of humanity in the city to the best of his ability, had to prove his worth and make sure that the Nemesis never knew Jill was in the city. If that meant Brad was going to continue this wild goose chase until he succumbed to the virus or was killed by the Nemesis or some other beast was entirely up in the air, but Brad would try his hardest.

There was a rope tangled on the banister he had used to jump into the dumpster previously, and he instantly thought up of a use for it. Taking the left at the fork in the next walkway, Brad entered the small alleyway and noticed the many carriers trapped behind a barricaded wall desperately pounding on it to break free, especially when they all saw Brad. Brad immediately found the steel door to his right and entered through, turning and tying the rope tightly so as to lock out whoever was on the other side.

_I'm sorry, Jill_, Brad thought, thinking this was only for her own good. He assumed the Nemesis would find him no matter what he did, so he wasn't too worried about locking out the Tyrant either. And besides that point, the Nemesis could easily destroy the door.

After tying the last knot, Brad turned and saw a dumpster that was set ablaze, the fire raging wildly, Brad embracing the soothing warmth it radiated. He had shut his eyes for a moment, losing himself in the dancing fire, thinking of Rick and his friends in the station who were now all dead. A steel door to his left led to a small enclosed room with a bench and a typewriter. Fatigued, Brad took a seat on the bench, sighing as he did, placing his Beretta on the desk and rubbing his eyes.

He folded his hands and brought his head down to his knees.

He prayed.

He prayed he had the strength to see this through to the end, to give the beast its last breath before he had his, to finally have some merit and worth in his life.

- - -

When Brad and the others came back to the station after the mission at the mansion, they all had to be debriefed by Chief Irons himself, who more or less wrote off everything they had said about the mansion, the S.T.A.R.S. members who didn't make it back, Albert Wesker's betrayal to Umbrella, and Umbrella's involvement in the whole ordeal.

When the Chief didn't believe a word they had said, Chris Redfield stood face-to-face with the Chief, his eyes burning with anger. "The blood on my face belongs to Richard Aiken! You remember Richard, don't you? Well, he became lunch for some fucking sharks when he saved my ass in an underground laboratory!"

"Chris, calm yourself," came Jill's soft voice.

"Enrico, Joseph, Kevin, Edward, Kenneth…" Chris continued. "They're all _dead_! And Forest, he turned into one of those monsters! Cannibals? They're fucking zombies! Forest turned into a fucking zombie! And I had to kill _him _when he tried to kill _me_! We walked right into a God damn trap! And you don't believe us!?"

"Enough!" Irons bellowed back, stepping forward to confront Chris. "I can see you're all stressed. And now that I have detailed reports from all of you on this matter, you may all go. Take some time for yourselves."

"How can you sound so damn calm?" Chris asked, his skin so red Brad thought he was going to explode. "How can you not care that your own men died because of some experiment? How!?"

Some officers came into the Chief's office and had to escort Chris Redfield out. Brad and the rest of them offered their stories, Brad's being shorter than the others, and had left the office as well; there was nothing more to be done.

When news came of Chief Irons accusing the S.T.A.R.S. of drug use on the Spencer Estate mission "that resulted in the deaths of their teammates," the S.T.A.R.S. were suspended indefinitely, without pay. Barry Burton had moved his family to Canada and had joined Chris, Jill, and Rebecca in a relief effort to bring Umbrella to justice.

Brad had already skipped town by then.

Almost two months had gone by since that day, days that Brad heard Chris Redfield's voice telling him he was helpless to save everyone, days that he heard the endless white noise on the radio, waiting patiently for one of his teammates to respond, to signal they were alive.

He was still very much afraid, afraid of what he was told, what he saw and what he knew. He thought that the Umbrella Corporation was keeping a special tab on him, watching his every move, making sure that he was well guarded and secured in case they had to take quick and decisive action against him. He was satisfied with where he was at that point; he literally left his life back in Raccoon. All he did was take a duffel bag full of his clothes, his car keys, wallet, and the Beretta the police didn't know about and he was on his way, riding off into the sunset with no care of direction so long as he was far away from that place.

He was still very much afraid of his own shadow at that point. He was watching the television in the motel he was currently lodging in when he saw the news of Raccoon.

He wasn't sure what made him come back to the city, but when Brad heard of the return of a mysterious skin disease falling upon Raccoon City, he knew he couldn't just stand back and watch this time. This time he had to do something--_anything_--that would make the voices stop. The city was still in pretty decent shape when he returned, and he immediately took his place among the officers setting up the barricade. When they all saw him, they welcomed him back with open arms, apologized for having had abandoned him, for calling him an addict and insane, but Brad didn't want any apologies.

He wanted to show them all that Chickenheart Vickers was dead.

When he initially encountered the carriers with the other officers, Brad was terrified to the very core; it seemed as though no matter how many times he fired upon them, they still kept on coming. Aside from that, their numbers were endless; waves and waves came at them, devoured them, and added more to their ranks.

When the police managed to win a scour mish against the carriers, they all fell back to the barricade at the edge of the city. By then it was still being managed by the police department, and the officers who Brad was with, one by one, gave up on their duties and ran for their lives.

Brad was at a crossroads at this point. He knew that the city was too far gone to save, but he also knew that there were still survivors waiting on a rescue. Brad had turned his back on his freedom and welcomed imprisonment. He tried to convince some of the officers to go back into the heart of the city to keep searching for survivors, but they wouldn't hear of it. According to them, they had done their job to the best of their abilities and there was no more to be done about the situation.

Brad, knowing that he felt indifferent to the officers in his company, walked back into the fight. It was when he made his way to City Hall where he met Rick and his crew, but by then, according to Rick, their numbers had dwindled as well, both as a result of men killed in action and the deserters who fled the city when they had their opportunity.

Brad thought this was his chance to redeem himself, his chance to show Chris, Jill, and all the others that he was different, that he was as strong as any of them in the fight against Umbrella.

It was his time.

- - -

Brad's eyes shot open. He sat back up, unable to believe that he had dozed off and was unsure of how long he had been out. Did he succumb to the virus and was now one of the undead?

He attempted to stand and did it, stretched his arm out and did it. He breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that the virus did not take full effect yet. To be honest, the thought of those carriers wandering around gave Brad the creeps, but he'd be lying if the thought of what they went through during the initial transformation didn't go through his mind.

_I'll find that out soon enough_, he thought, exiting the small room and continuing on. Immediately turning to his left, Brad went through another chain gate and was at a fork in the road. To his left was the police station, where he had wanted to go previously, and to his right led to a path which would lead to City Hall. _To think this is where I wanted to end up_, he thought grimly, feeling the wound on his neck. _I was so close…so close…_

Brad took the path to the right and ran past a bunch of wrecked cars on the side of the street. Entering the door in front of him led to a small hallway. Brad heard the sound of a shriek penetrate his ears, causing his eardrums to nearly explode, and he raised the only weapon he had left, his Beretta, with limited ammunition.

Taking careful steps forward and rounding the corner, Brad could see a figure scale the building quickly. When he followed the figure reaching the rooftop, it disappeared and didn't seem like it wanted to give any chase. When he walked to the next corner, he saw the body of what looked to be a special forces member, but the man who wore the shredded camo bore the insignia of Umbrella on his right shoulder sleeve.

_They have their own military? _Brad thought surprisingly.

And that's when he heard the door open. He pointed his Beretta in the direction he had entered from and heard those same thunderous footsteps. When the footsteps ceased, Brad heard the signature call.

"S.T.A.R.S. Ruuaaarrr!"

And then the Nemesis rounded the corner at full speed, pumping its arms for speed, thirsty for Brad's blood. Brad raised his Beretta and pulled two shots off, one hitting the Nemesis in the chest and the other hitting its shoulder.

But that didn't slow it down one bit. It had finally caught up to Brad, lunging its large hands at him and lifting him up with ease. Brad saw the Nemesis pause for a second, its pupil less eyes focusing on him. He could see the Nemesis' eyes widen at the sight of its neck wound. It let out a ferocious roar and threw Brad clear across the small hallway, Brad slamming against a metal barrel that was placed on the corner. He felt the pain rise in his body, realizing that some of his ribs may have been broken from that throw.

When he looked up, he saw Nemesis slowly turn its body and continue its trek toward him. He aimed his Beretta forward and took aimed shots at the slow moving Tyrant, the Nemesis pausing slightly when Brad hit vital body parts.

Then the Nemesis broke into a sprint again.

It shouldered Brad into the corner of the building behind him, Brad's head smashing against the brick. Blood flowed freely from his mouth, dripping onto the Nemesis' leather trench coat. Brad could see the evil in its eyes as it lifted him in the air once again, this time a tentacle protruding from the palm of its hand.

It meant to finish him.

When a dazed Brad heard a _clank! _hit the ground, he took a second to look down and noticed one of his M67 grenades fell behind the barrel. He fumbled into his pocket and prayed to God the second one was still in there. When he finally felt it, he pulled it out and pulled the pin right then and there.

The Nemesis, realizing what Brad had just done, dropped him and immediately broke into a run down the hallway, Brad chucking the grenade after it and limping toward the door he had come from, grabbing his shattered ribs.

He heard the explosion a few seconds after he shut the door. He ran down the street and saw the iron gate of the police station in front of him. Realizing that was probably his last haven, Brad mustered the strength in him and made it to the gate, his body smashing against it. When he opened it, he saw Jill walking to the door.

She spun around, surprised to see him. "Brad!" she called out, running to him.

Brad held out his bloodied hand. "J-Jill…"

When the two were almost upon each other, a figure dropped from the sky and landed in the middle of them. It was the Nemesis.

Brad screamed, shuffling himself to a corner, knowing there was nowhere else to run. The Nemesis was now upon him, lifting him in the air, Brad screaming "No!" as it did. He was shaking, his gaze not leaving Nemesis as it unsheathed its tentacle once again.

"Jill…" Brad said softly, looking over to his teammate. "Help me…"

The Nemesis thrust forward, Brad feeling the tentacle enter his mouth and exit the back of his head, feeling the slimy thing moving around freely in his new wound. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he shook uncontrollably, the pain unbearable. He felt the tentacle retract back into the Nemesis' palm and then he was thrown, his body crumpled mere feet away from Jill.

"Brad?" he heard her call out.

He never answered.

- - -

Author's Note: Sorry for the long update, guys. I'm sorry if this chapter seemed a little dreary and hard to read; I was running on an empty tank when I was going through it, and forgive me for any inconsistencies; ie: grenade in the hallway that exploded which was clearly not the case in RE3:N. Hope you enjoyed reading this. Look for an update real soon!


	6. Dead Rising

VI

Dead Rising

Brad lifted his head and let out a loud gasp; it was like he was taking his first breath of air in what seemed like forever. He took a look around and realized he was in the front of the police station.

_What had happened to me? Why am I here? _

He pushed his arms to the ground and hoisted himself up, swaggering as he did, and stumbled around, attempting to gain his bearings. He looked to where he had just been lying and saw a pool of blood. _Is that my blood? _He seemed too disoriented to put two and two together at that moment; he felt like he was on the drunkest high of his life.

He shuffled to a staircase directly behind him. He grabbed the wall with one hand and attempted to take it easy. Instead, he ended up missing a step and rolled down, his body flailing like a rag doll, until he reached the bottom. Surprisingly enough, he was in no pain.

He felt nothing.

He was in a passageway that was divided into two staircases. Brad thought about ascending the second staircase and entering the rear of the station instead of the front. He had to get into the station, had to find Jill, had to save her from the Nemesis before it was too late.

But was it too late for him already? He didn't remember anything after the Nemesis grabbed hold of him.

_Am I dead? _he wondered.

He had teetered to the end when he heard footsteps behind him.

He slugged his head around and saw a blurred vision of a man in a blue uniform heading toward his direction. He tried to focus his eyes on the man, watched him steadily, realizing that the front of his uniform read _R.P.D. _His uniform was different than the uniforms the other officers were wearing, which only meant that he was part of Chief Irons' S.P.F. team, along with Kevin Ryman, another officer Brad knew well. They were to be the new task force to fill in for the S.T.A.R.S. while they were out of commission, and Irons even took the liberty to hire some "qualified" recruits to replace them.

Brad raised a bloodied hand to him; he had to warn the man about what was happening. When they were a few feet away from each other, Brad opened his mouth, and what came out was a loud, hungry moan. He was not himself anymore; he was a monster…he was one of them.

The last thing he saw was the muzzle flash of a VP70.

_Fin_

- - -

Author's Note: There's the end to Brad Vicker's story. I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I'm currently working on a sequel to this story which, hopefully, will be out soon. So if you enjoyed this, feel free to keep me on your Alert list to check out the next story.

Thank you all for reviewing this story; it really kept me going knowing people wanted to read it. Take care and God Bless.


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